


As Long as it Takes

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: Speed Grapher
Genre: M/M, Scents & Smells, more wall pinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsujido has never met anyone who hates as purely as Suitengu does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long as it Takes

**Author's Note:**

> For my bro, who is going through some dumb bullshit right now. Everyone needs a Tsujido when things get rough. 
> 
> All of my recent fics have consisted of boys pushing each other against walls. Shows what I think about. 
> 
> Fairly worksafe. Some smell-kink, because it's Tsujido.

The lift up to Suitengu’s private suite is silent, free of the cheesy muzak that is piped through everywhere else in the Tennozu building. The walls are lined with mirrors, and Tsujido’s reflection stares back at him the whole ride up. He finds it fascinating that his countenance can remain so placid, even if all the while his heart is beating faster with every floor he passes, steady pulses of excitement radiating out through his guts. 

_Calm down_ , he orders himself, shifting the plastic-wrapped bundle in his hands. Mr. Suitengu probably isn’t in his room; his work keeps him in the office late, and it’s barely half-past nine. 

The lift coasts smoothly to a stop, the cool, automated female voice announcing the seventy-fifth floor. Tsujido unlocks the only door with a swipe of a matte black keycard. Apart from himself, there are only two other people who have a copy—a maid, and Mr. Suitengu himself. 

The room beyond is unlit, but the shades are open on an enormous window that looks out on the hectic glow of Tokyo; streaks of headlights and the constant rustling of the millions of ants crawling its streets. 

Tsujido is just about to hang the package in the closet and make his departure, when the shower shuts off with a hiss. The noise had been too steady for Tsujido to even realize he was hearing it. The bathroom door opens, along with a rush of steam and the smell of soap and pricey shampoo, along with the unmistakable smell of Mr. Suitengu. 

A moment later the man himself emerges, naked, wet hair clinging to his back and neck. Tsujido can smell his surprise when he sees him, even if none of it shows on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” 

Tsujido flushes and looks away, focusing on the wall a few feet to Suitengu’s left. “Apologies, sir. I took the liberty of getting your coat dry cleaned. I…should have called up first.” 

Mr. Suitengu laughs. “No harm done. I doubt I have anything you don’t. Besides, ah, the obvious, I mean.” 

Something sour builds in the back of Tsujido’s throat as his hand goes self consciously to his nosepiece. He is surprised to smell a hint of guilt mixed in with Mr. Suitengu’s surprise and amusement, but it is gone so quickly he might have imagined it. They stand in silence for a moment or two before Tsujido realizes he is staring. He clears his throat. 

“I’ll leave the coat, sir.” He bows. 

Suitengu is shrugging on a robe, wet hair leaving shiny trails on the fabric. He turns toward the window, eyes narrowed at the city, as if the mere sight of it disgusts him. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t ever seem to get the taste of that woman out of my mouth.” 

Tsujido has never met anyone who hates as purely as Suitengu does. Hate smells very similar to love, but twisted, a million other scents swirled up in it, tied into knots of suppressed violence and a core of deep, violet-colored shame. He hesitates in front of the door, looking back, wondering if he’s supposed to respond. “How long do you have to keep it up?” 

Suitengu turns from the window, the gleaming purple-blue of the light pollution painting color across his hair. “As long as it takes.” 

“I wish there was something more I could do.” It isn’t his place to say it—he does what Mr. Suitengu orders and no more—but it’s out of his mouth, and there’s no taking things back. 

Suitengu cocks a pale eyebrow, expression turning smug. “Oh?” 

Tsujido flushes. He hadn’t meant it to come out like _that_ —but his voice is always a bit rough when he’s near Mr. Suitengu. It’s _always_ difficult to catch his breath in his presence, but as he comes closer, crowding Tsujido against the door, he feels positively light-headed, Mr. Suitengu’s scent all the more intense after his shower. 

Suitengu says nothing. He splays a hand on the wall beside Tsujido’s head, studying his face for a moment. His skin has erupted out into tiny needles, and he can feel the straps of his nosepiece sliding in the sweat that has formed on the back of his neck. 

Suitengu has kissed him before, over a year ago, shortly after he had come to work for him. But then it had been only business—an exchange of saliva to pass on the retro-virus as efficiently as possible. Mr. Suitengu is nothing if not efficient. 

At first it’s just the barest press of lips, light and dry from the heat of the shower. Tsujido expects the nosepiece to get in the way, but if he tips his head a little it’s no more awkward than kissing is under normal circumstances. 

He hesitates somewhat, pulling back. 

“Something wrong?” Suitengu’s voice is rough and rumbling, like a monsoon coming in over the bay. 

“Nothing, sir.” They’re too close for Tsujido to look him in the eye, but he tries. “I was just thinking how this isn’t going to be enough to get Tennozu’s taste out of your mouth.” 

He feels more than sees Suitengu’s laugh, vibrating through his chest. He laps at the corner of his mouth, and then kisses him again. This time he does it open-mouthed, and it hits Tsujido like a gut-punch, until he is shaking with the sensory overload. 

He had always had a particular attachment to smells, even before he became a Euphoric. One of the guys in his gang had cancer of the stomach, and Tsujido had known about it before he did—could detect the scent of him rotting from the inside. He could tell when blood had been spilled in a room or sometimes even a building. He’d passed up sex with perfectly attractive people because their smell did nothing for him—Makabe and Niihari thought he was nuts. Coming here to work for Suitengu, he had wanted to smell. To know his scent—he was sure it would be exquisite. 

He hasn’t been this close to anyone since he gained his power, let alone this close to Suitengu. As his arousal grows, his scent deepens. It is blood and desperation and barely suppressed rage, a coil of emotions joined so tightly together that he can barely tease them apart, doesn’t have the brainpower to try at a time like this. 

From a distance, he can tell that Suitengu has pushed him firmly against the door. “Am I hurting you?” 

“I—.” Tsujido tugs against Suitengu’s grip on his wrists. It’s light—he’s barely touching him. Then he realizes that isn’t what he meant. “No, you’re not. It’s—“ He flushes. “It’s overwhelming, but that isn’t always bad.” 

“No,” Suitengu agrees. “Not always.”


End file.
